Note: These are chapters 13 and 14 of a very long story. I decided to start doubling up on some of these. 35 chapters so far, with quite a ways to go before the tale is told. It is a wide ranging story with lots of twists and turns, and will eventually touch on interracial sex, dominant women, lesbian sex, true love, group sex, revenge sex, bisexuality and much, much more. I hope you enjoy it.
And thanks to everyone for the comments and emails. I appreciate them all.
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Wednesday
The next morning, I was up early again. This lifestyle was definitely agreeing with me. I was sleeping so soundly and waking up completely refreshed. I attributed it to the wonderfully satisfying sex of the nights previous. I had never realized what a robust sex life would do for me.
I was also looking forward to going to work, I thought to myself. I thought again about Mr. Jackson's rough hand – and the other parts of him as well.
I made breakfast again. I found a Belgian Waffle maker in the cupboard and made waffles. Fresh fruit on the side. Coffee.
We ate breakfast much the same as the morning before. Just two days was too soon to call it a routine, but I felt myself settling in. It felt nice.
In the shower afterwards, I remembered a dream I had while spooning against Jana's back – or, parts of a dream I should say.
In my dream, I was making love with a man. I couldn't see his face. He was lying atop me, thrusting into me, his face buried in my hair and neck and shoulder as I was urging him deeper and harder into me. I remember feeling frustrated that my orgasm would not come.
In another flash of what I could remember from he dream, his erect cock was between my breasts, pushing closer and closer to my open mouth. It was an uncircumcised cock, thick and heavy. The head would emerge and retract as it slid between my breasts. I got goose bumps with the thought of it.
After I ran a razor over my lower legs, I reached down and gave myself a quick orgasm with my fingers thinking about uncircumcised cocks thrusting into me.
Lovemaking with Jana was sublime. I adored everything about it. The way it made me feel so feminine, but strong at the same time. And I especially loved how emotionally fulfilling it was, and how she gently controlled me. I felt truly and deeply loved. I hoped she felt the same way.
Even so, there was no doubt about it, I decided, I needed a good old-fashioned fucking. From a man. With a cock. Preferably, I had decided, a cock bigger than the last one I had seen. I needed to see what a big cock was all about. I was pretty sure I would like it.
And then I remembered the harness/dildo thing that... (Jason! Good Lord, had I already forgotten his name?) Jason had bought and left at my old apartment the night Jana had fucked him with it.
I wondered what it would be like to have Jana use it on me, and I made a quick mental note to grab it tonight when I was at my apartment, tagging things for the movers.
Out of the shower and toweling off my hair, I looked at my phone and checked the time. One of the benefits of moving in with Jana and getting up early was that I had all the time in the world in the mornings. The location of her – our – home cut about 25-30 minutes off my morning commute. I had nearly an hour before I needed to leave for the office.
I was sitting at my dressing counter putting on my makeup when Jana came in, looking hot in a her work clothes. Her skirt was tailored perfectly. It hugged her hips deliciously.
She leaned over and gave me a kiss. I got a peek at her deep cleavage as she did.
"I wish I could be a spider on the wall at your office today." she said, leaning against the marble sink counter. She smiled a wicked little smile at me. "What are you going to wear?"
I thought for a moment. "I think I'm going to go very conservative today. I don't want to seem–"
"Like a wanton slut in heat?" she helpfully interrupted.
"Like a wanton slut in heat." I agreed.
"I think that's a smart move." she said. "Ok, then. I'm off. I'm still trying to dig out from missing Monday."
I looked up at her. Her beauty pierced me. "I love you Jana Douglas."
"And I love you Erika Thomas."
She was out the door.
Looking through my wardrobe, I picked out my nicest slacks. Prada, black crepe wool, and perfectly tailored. They rode low on my hips and made my ass look fantastic, and they made my legs look a mile long. I don't know how they do it, but good tailoring makes such a dramatic difference.
They were cut for three-inch heels or they would drag the ground.
I was about to slip on my black patent leather Monolo's, but spotted my creme-colored, open-toe Louboutin's and had a naughty thought.
What if I were to paint my toenails with fuck-me-red nail polish and let them peek out the toes of my shoes while wearing my very conservative outfit today?
I quickly decided that I had to do it.
I sat down and painted my toenails with a shade of red that was deep, but still fairly bright. No need to go overboard with something whoreish. I hoped that I had time to do my nails before I ran out the door.
While my toenails were still drying, I very carefully slipped on my sheerest, nudest bra, and a simple creme linen blouse. Over that, I pulled on my navy blazer.
I checked my look in the mirror and considered my hair. Maybe pull it up in a severe bun? A playful ponytail? As I played with it, I decided it was time for a trip to the stylist. Maybe even time for a new style.
I settled on a wide, silver beret that pulled my hair behind my ears and held it so that it fell down my back. I had to remind myself that I was going for conservative, not school-marmish or school-girlish.
And with that in mind, I decided not to do the nails on my hands with the same shade of red I had done my toes with. I wanted to have just a hint of 'oh-my-goodness-what-is-going-on-under-there', and the toenails accomplished that to perfection.
I set off to the office, knowing that I would arrive fairly early.
As I strode through the lobby of our building, the security guard Jerome let out a low whistle. "Ohhhh Mizz Thomas, you lookin' fiii-iii-iiine today."
A three-syllable 'fine'. Most days it was two syllables. My carefully chosen outfit was going to be just fii-ii-ine.
"Thank you, Jerome." I gave him a sweet smile as I walked past his desk, with just a little more bounce in my step.
I settled into my cubicle and began working. It was just outside Mr. Jackson's office. Situated so that he could see into it from his office door, but not from sitting at his desk. His office door was closed most of the time anyway, to keep the distractions to a minimum.
His personal assistant, Jennifer was across the aisle from me. Jennifer was capable and pleasant. Married with two kids that she adored and talked about just a little too much. She was also a bit of a gossip. I got along with her fine, but I kept my personal business to myself with her.
She generally arrived earlier than I did from dropping her kids off at school. I was early enough to arrive ahead of her. I had seen a few of my co-workers already at their desks or in the break room.
Mr. Jackson and I did most of our official daily communication via email, and we kept a g-chat window open all day for little things. He used that to ask me questions about deadlines and quick, unofficial progress reports, things like that. I would use it to ask him for hints on case law and the like. It was always professional, but friendly and a bit informal.
He always addressed me in any communication as E. Corny, but sweet. He could be playful in a businesslike way.
He was a stickler for a clean desk and I always made sure that my desk was neat before I left for the day. I reached in my drawer to get a pen and noticed a little bag of Hershey's Kisses that were there from Valentine's Day.
My immediate thought was to put one on his desk anonymously. "Wouldn't that be cute?" I thought.
My second thought was that I was a silly girl with a dangerously undisciplined mind. I mentally slapped myself in the face and shouted at my brain to wake up, be alert, do my job and quit being such a ninny.
"Be PROFESSIONAL!" I hissed at myself fiercely.
Part of my duties was to pitch in and help Jennifer on the filing - as my time allowed – which was strictly dictated by how big a case load Mr. Jackson was carrying at the time. At the moment, we were fairly light and didn't have anything big or pressing going on.
So I checked the basket on Jennifer's desk and picked up a stack of files. Mr. Jackson had a simple but rigid filing system: Pink for Personal, Orange for Office, Blue for Billing, etc., etc.
I separated them into piles, alphabetized them and went about the task of filing them. I saved the Personal files for last. They were kept in a locked cabinet in his office. A key to it was in my desk.
I decided to wait until he arrived to file them for two reasons. I never go into that file without him in there, and I wanted to make an entrance.
